


Men Like Us.

by Higgystar



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, warning: rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgystar/pseuds/Higgystar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from the kink meme: When Joe is going to shoot Rick and Daryl tells Joe to take his blood and Joe says Daryl is lying, Joe doesn't have the claimers beat Daryl to death. He has them gang-rape Daryl in front of Rick.</p><p>Warning: This fic contains graphic descriptions of gang rape and violence, please do not read is these themes are upsetting to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Men Like Us.

“Men like us.”

It’s all Daryl can hear echoing around his head when Joe has that gun pressed to Rick’s head and though he doesn’t want to look, to lose eye contact with Joe for a second, he can hear that Carl is struggling with his attacker. He feels sick. Two very different parts of his life have met in a crash of violence and he wants to do anything he can to stop it immediately. Joe is someone he could have been, someone that Merle would have admired and followed blindly like he had, for a while Joe had felt safe, like he almost knew what to expect.

Now watching as he has a gun to Rick’s head he panics, pleading with whatever God would listen to a Dixon to not let this happen. Not now. Not to his family. Not when he’d just found them again.

As soon as his heart stops pounding in his ears he’s dropping his weapon, pleading, no begging for Joe to stop and just listen to him. To have mercy and understand that he doesn’t have to do this. He wants to somehow show Joe what these people are to him and how they are good people, how Rick didn’t deserve to die, how Michonne was more than capable of sticking with them and that Carl needed to be let go immediately. Instead he just pleads, hoping that if Joe thinks nothing else of him, he’ll at least accept his blood instead of Rick’s for whatever mistakes had been made.

He can take pain and though he saw what the others did to Len back at their last pit stop, he’s willing to take it all if only Joe would let the other three go. Daryl knows he can do this, he knows he can take whatever he needs to for his family.

Though his fingers itch for his bow or his knife, Daryl stands firm, eyes never leaving Joe’s face though he can feel Rick watching him, so many questions and just wanting to know what the hell was going on. If Rick could talk Daryl knows he’d be trying to talk him out of it, but he knows he’s not going to let this happen, not when the marauders can have him instead, take their pound of flesh and have just as much revenge against Rick. Carl is screaming and it takes all of Daryl’s will power to keep his gaze focussed on the leader of the group, to watch for the tiniest sliver of hope.

Joe moves, shifting but not moving the gun an inch away from Rick’s temple as he spits to the side. Daryl almost sees a glimmer of hurt at his offer and betrayal for these people, but he knows he’s not like them and he’d never let something like this happen if he could help it. He’s an asshole, a stupid redneck with no future and no hope, but he’d be fucking damned if he was anything like these bastards. Men like us? No fucking way.

Least if they beat him to death he could die with the knowledge he’d done his best for his family.

With a sharp whistle everything around him freezes and all eyes that can turn to Joe. He’s waiting on baited breath to find out his fate or hoping to at least come up with some spur of the moment plan should everything go to shit. “Now that there is a lie Daryl.” His stomach drops and he knows what’s coming next but refuses to drop his gaze, if he was going to go down, then he was going down fighting. “Boys, we deal with our own first. Then with these fuckers.”

Daryl grits his teeth when the gun is pressed to dig in to Rick’s skin, the muzzle probably burning and leaving an imprint. But he knows this will work, his death would be a decent distraction and they could get an upper hand on Joe whilst the other four marauders were occupied with him. It was some semblance of a plan at least and when Carl is shoved to his knees beside his father, Daryl feels a sense of relief that at least the kid wouldn’t have to go through that.

All three of them are safe for now and to him, that’s enough. Together they can gather their thoughts and though there is a gun at Rick’s head, he knows they’ve got more of a chance now. Clenching his hands into fists he prepares himself for a fight and almost snarls when Dan, the fat idiot who’d dared to touch Carl interrupts. “I was having fun with the boy.”

Joe gives a snort and a half shrug before gesturing to Daryl with his free hand, a small smile creeping at his lips. “Then by all means have fun with him before you kill him.” Daryl’s stomach drops and whatever defence he’d been planning for himself suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. “He’s pretty enough.”

Hands grab at him, catching his vest, dragging him to the ground and though he fights, scrambles to land a hit and kick out at them all, there’s only so much he can do. He pants for air, panic setting in, fighting for himself as well as his family, he knows what this would do to them as much as it would to him.

Punches collide with his face, kicks hit his side and he curls up instinctively, trying to protect his head and kick out at them all. There’s too many of them, he can’t take on all four and once, and he can hear their squabbling amongst each other as someone claims his vest for afterwards. His face is crushed into the dirt, and for a second he glances up and meets Rick’s eyes, and sees the way Joe has his hair gripped tightly and the gun pressed even harder to his head. The sick bastard was going to make Rick watch.

He knows he’s yelling, garbled words of hatred and threats, wishing he could do more, and fighting as hard as he could. He wasn’t a pussy and if these fuckers were going to do that to him then they were going to have to fight every single second. Fingers twist in his hair and shove him down again, someone grabs at his legs and Daryl hasn’t got enough leverage to push them off from his position. When they yank his belt loose and laugh, yanking down his pants he tries to twist out of their grip, clawing at the dirt and trying to drag himself free before one of them punches him once more.

It’s enough to leave him blinking for a few seconds and they take that opportunity to pin him properly, though they leave his arms free he knows he can’t get out of this. They surround him, one of them grabbing at him all over, hands running over his sides, someone rakes nails over the small of his back and catches on a scar with a laugh. He feels sick. Digging his fingers into the ground he tries to blink back the dark spots that flit over his vision and get some kind of grip of himself, but it’s all too much and he can barely breathe.

They won’t stop touching and grabbing at him, digging in their fingers and pinching at him, someone grabs at his bare thigh and he can feel himself trembling as heavy hands press on his shoulders, someone kneeling in front of him and keeping him down in the dirt. “Wanted to play with the bitch since day one.” One of them sniggers and despite everything he snarls out that he ain’t a bitch.

Fingers grab at his ass, digging in as someone presses his face down harder, the dirt and grime of the railroad track pressing into his cheek and bruising. He bucks uselessly, feet scrabbling at the ground, trying to get some purchase and just run, just get out of here. Everything within himself is panicking and nothing feels like it’s working right. He can’t see, he can’t breathe and though he tries to lash out and hurt someone, it’s not enough.

He can deal with pain, he always has, but it’s more than just pain when one of them finally presses inside of him. Daryl can’t focus but he knows he’s yelling, screaming and not even making words so much as noises. A part of him wants to take it silently, but the terror and intense helplessness of the situation won’t let him. It hurts more than anything he’d ever experienced and it’s not even a fleeting pain, but a burning within himself, and the knowledge that this isn’t a bruise that would fade in time but something much worse.

Whoever is kneeling before him is laughing, moaning a little and watching, he can feel the motion of the man touching himself beside his head, getting off to his pain and making it all the worse. He doesn’t want to be here, he wants to be anywhere else but here. Gasping in pain Daryl hates when he’s pushed against, his body jerking in time with the man inside of him and causing him to feels ever motion.

More hands grope him, one reaching beneath him to touch at his own cock and he tries to curl his legs up, wanting to protect himself and just make it stop. He can’t breathe. They’re all over him with fingers touching all over, under his skin and making him want to crawl down into the dirt and hide away. An inhuman whimper claws its way from his throat and the voices surrounding him begin cooing to him.

“Poor baby.”

“Can’t take his medicine.”

“Think he wants some more?”

Daryl thinks he cries out a negative response to that question but honestly he’s not sure. Everything sounds too loud in his ears and it’s all shaky around him. He feels himself get pushed harder and faster and the shame of the situation threatens to overwhelm him when he feels the other man shudder and an awful sensation of wetness creeps inside of him. Gagging against his own arm he buries his face closer to the ground, wanting to just forget and ignore it but his mind won’t shut down. He prays for it to be over and lets out a small cry when the bodies around him shift in position.

He thinks he’s crying but he can’t be sure. Not when his body is on fire, clamping around the next one shoved inside of him and trembling in pain at each thrust. Someone’s yelling, but he doesn’t care, not when everything just feels so wrong and disgusting, like he wants to crawl out of his own flesh and seep into the ground. Hands smack at his rear and he gives a small choke of upset, the fingers in his hair twist and he can’t stand it as his head is yanked free of its hiding space.

Someone’s pawing at his face, wiping at the tears almost tenderly, their breath is hot on his face and he wants to spit at them if he had the ability. As it was a particularly harsh movement from behind him makes him yelp, clawing at the ground for something as his body feels like it’s being split in two. He can’t raise his eyes from the ground and he’s grateful that his tears have obscured his vision enough that he can’t see anything but blurs across the tracks from him.

It hurts that he can still feel Rick’s eyes being forced onto him.

Under his nails must be filthy right now he’s digging them into the ground so hard. He’s shoved back down and someone fists at his shirt and vest, holding him and tugging him back, pressing in harder, jabbing at him and ripping him open. There’s no way he can survive this, he’s going to die like this. Punches hit under his ribs and he flinches, breath being driven out of him and fingers moving to clamp around the back of his neck. Gasping for air he feels more pushes, thrusts and grunts above him, someone enjoying every second until that awful sensation fills him again.

Sagging against the ground he prays for it to be over. For them to kill him and let it all be done. He wants Rick to have had time to make a plan and kill these assholes and give them a bullet to the head from him. Again the bodies shift and he almost manages to shakily curl up until someone grabs at him again.

His legs are opened wider, someone’s talking to him and calling him pretty, stroking over his hair almost tenderly and making him tremble all over. Daryl doesn’t make a sound when he’s shoved into again, just lets his head hit the ground and closes his eyes. He figures his body is numb, even though he feels the pain of it all, it’s just one huge mass now instead of certain parts. Everything just feels wrong and he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to feel right again.

They’re laughing above him and even through his closed eyelids he can see when another shadow falls over him and stumbling feet come to rest at him side. “This is because of you, you fucking piece of shit. Killing our man for no reason.” Joe is above him and Daryl knows that Rick is there too, being made to watch from a closer distance, made to see as he took it like a bitch and cried about it.

Daryl can feel himself trembling and though he knows he should still be fighting he just feels defeated. There’s nothing he could do now, it hadn’t been enough, he hadn’t helped at all, he’d just given Rick more guilt. Slumping against the ground he lets them use him, fingers lax against the dirt and feeling each thrust tear and mark him in more ways than one as they all laugh above him.

It’s the silence that terrifies him the most.

The world goes from laughing and jeering, mocking words and awful endearments being spat his way to complete silence. He wonders if he’s gone deaf for a second, but the sound of a body falling to the ground proves that wrong. There’s the smell of blood in the air, tainting everything and suddenly the world moves again.

They all pull away, making him grit his teeth against the pain and curl up on the floor, feeling himself shake and gag against the ground. Someone’s screaming, there’s gun fire and more feet moving in, someone’s running, there’s swearing and fighting and he knows he should get up and help but he just can’t. Another body falls, and another, there’s the metallic tang of more blood in the air and Daryl knows he should probably be looking out for walkers.

Blinking against the ground he can see blurs moving around him, one that’s smaller than the other is brandishing a gun and Daryl doesn’t flinch when Carl shoots one of the marauders in the eye. Michonne is near, he can hear her sword slice through the air and suddenly, stupidly he realises he’s still exposed beneath the waist in the presence of a woman. He doesn’t look, just reaches down to grab at his pants around his ankles and yank them back up, hiding himself and ignoring the wetness that he can already feel staining them.

There’s more noise, another body falls and after a while, after a lot of grunting and yelling, so does the last one. He knows they’ve won. He knows they were safe but right now, despite everything, he couldn’t much care.

Someone’s talking to him, kneeling by his side and speaking gently, he knows he should listen and let them know he’s still alive, that he’s still here and grateful that they’re alive and well, but the thought of having them see him makes him gag. In a second everything too loud and sharp around him, the smell of death and sex surround him and he’s scrabbling to his feet, able to ignore the pain and stagger to the edge of the clearing before he’s vomiting, throwing up anything and everything he can.

His fingers curl into the hem of his shirt as his body expels everything it can, almost seeming to need to rid itself of everything that had happened to him. Everything aches all over, he wants to both sleep and never sleep again, to run and just curl up and stay here until the end of time. Instead he holds onto his shirt tighter, clinging to it as he continues heaving up bile, sharp and acidic in his mouth, burning his nostrils and still not enough to help him feel better.

There’s the crunch of leaves as someone steps up behind him, making him tense and pray for time to just stop for a moment. He doesn’t want to go on and face this, he wants everything to just stop and leave him be.

“Daryl…”

Holding out a hand behind him he makes Rick stop, just stop and shut up. His fingers are still shaking, his body is just broken and his pants keep slipping down from where they were loose. When he’s sure Rick isn’t going to come any closer or keep talking he moves to do up his belt, fingers barely working but managing to work the catch. He can’t seem to stop shaking but he knows, he just knows he can’t focus on himself right now. They had to get to terminus and find their own, now he’d found some of their family, they shouldn’t stop yet.

His throat hurts, he’s screamed himself hoarse it seems, so he takes a moment to just swallow away the taste of vomit and spit it to the side. Turning around to face Rick his body screams at him in pain and panic, natural reactions that he can’t afford to listen to right now. “Should get going.”

The other man looks awful, he’s dirty, panting and holding a knife that’s so coated in red Daryl wonders if there’s any silver left beneath it or if it would be stained forever. The worst part is that his face is covered in blood, drips of it falling to stain Rick’s jacket, covering his beard and making him look more animal than human. Daryl doesn’t know exactly what he’s meant to be feeling right now, but it’s almost a relief to feel nothing when he looks at the bodies and finds Joe’s throat torn out in a way that could not have been with a knife.

“Daryl we don’t-“

“Yeah we do.” He coughs, spitting again and not caring that Rick is looking just as terrified as he feels. Neither of them know how to deal with this and it frightened Daryl more than he would admit that he didn’t have someone’s lead to follow. “We need to move before walkers come for the bodies. If they can’t smell the blood, they’d have heard the gun.”

Walking hurts more than anything in the world but it’s something easy to do, something simple for him to keep his mind on and allow him to ignore everything else. As Daryl goes to bend down, his injuries make themselves known and he has to bite back a grunt of pain as his abdomen just cramps all over. He doesn’t know if he’s going to vomit again or just crumple up in pain, but a small hand reaching out to grab his crossbow gives him something else to focus on.

Panting for control and for breath he can’t bring himself to smile at Carl, not now, not after everything. Instead he just stands back upright, feeling how his insides still ache but not so much, and not complaining when the kid takes up Daryl’s meagre bag of belongings and shoves it into his own pack before beginning their journey with Daryl’s crossbow still in hand. Swallowing back whatever pain he could, Daryl lets his shaky legs start the familiar motions of walking, ignoring each twinge of agony, the burn inside of himself and the dampness of his pants sticking to himself.

He’s can’t think right now, not of anything at all. The world is still silent around him aside from the odd birdsong and crunch of gravel beneath their feet as they continue down the tracks. Rick and Michonne are in front of him, walking together and he knows they’re trying so hard not to keep glancing back to check on him. The humiliation burns deep, but right now he has a purpose to focus on, they needed to get to Terminus, then his body and mind could go through whatever they needed to once they were safe. Beside him walks Carl, quiet but sure-footed, Daryl’s crossbow across his back and gun at his side. Daryl doesn’t know how much the kid saw, and frankly he doesn’t want to know either, but the fact the kid is still walking beside him, and slowing his pace to match Daryl’s injured one, shows that at least Carl isn’t too disgusted by him.

They don’t talk, thankfully, because he really just can’t right now, not with everything that happened the with the trembling running through his body. He doesn’t know if the kid even knew about sex at all, let alone about that side of it or anything else, there must be a million questions running through his head and yet the kid was smart enough to keep quiet. It means a lot to Daryl that Carl walks beside him, proof that they were both alive, proof that he could protect his family and that the ache through his body had been worth it despite everything.

When Carl’s hand slips into his as they walk, he doesn’t let go and he knows that he’s nothing like those fucking bastards.


End file.
